


Scheme

by bootson



Series: Among Some Talk of You and Me [4]
Category: Actor RPF, Star Trek RPF
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Coming Out, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-27
Updated: 2012-01-27
Packaged: 2017-10-30 04:45:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/327879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bootson/pseuds/bootson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The aftermath of Chris' morning show outburst, from Zach’s perspective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scheme

**Author's Note:**

> [Revision](http://archiveofourown.org/works/327877)
> 
>  
> 
> from Zach's perspective.

 

 

“It’s not as though we’re minors who _need_ their approval,” Zach sighed. They had been talking circles since he’d calmed Chris down enough, with soft words and calculated touches, to stop apologizing.

Convincing Chris that there was _nothing_ to apologize for hadn’t gone over well and Zach knew he was most likely _just_ suppressing the urge. Zach himself was trying not to start begging forgiveness, only held back due to a lack of direction. He could have apologized for a dozen things, disregarding Chris’ orders to stay away or leaving in the first place, lying to and avoiding him. Instead, he settled into his corner of the sofa and started discussing options.

“I don’t _need_ their approval, Zach,” Chris snapped, apparently having missed that Zach wasn’t accusing him of dependency issues. “But it’s going to make life a hell of a lot easier.” Recognizing the embellishment due to the fidgeting, Zach stared him down, forcing him to expound his stand on the situation. “I just don’t feel like fighting anymore. Every fucking day, man. It’s a fight against photographers, crowds, my god damned agent. Fuck only knows what’s getting thrown at us next. I’m sick of it.”

Leaning across the distance, Zach reached for Chris’ hand, defaulting to the old standby to eradicate Chris’ voice of the misery. “You were already the brave one, already surpassed anything I’ve done. Now, let me do some of the fighting for you, right?”

Thus far, Zach had established that Chris still responded best to touch. He’d learned early on, when they’d barely known one another, that Chris calmed much quicker when he had something to hold onto. Recently, as in about 20 minutes ago when nothing could pull his hands away from Chris, he’d acknowledged that his own tense muscles only loosened when he was taking advantage of Chris’ need for contact.

“You don’t have to protect me from the world. You have your own shit to deal with.”

The sheer hypocrisy made Zach roll his eyes. Wasn’t it Chris who, just that morning, had been twisting the truth so Zach wouldn’t come across as the jerk he had been? Zach’s entire reason for being here, the base goal of this decision was to take some of the overbearing weight off Chris’ shoulders, repay him for being so damn…obliging throughout this whole thing. For taking care of Zach when he didn’t even begin to deserve it.

Again, Chris was refusing eye contact. And, again, Zach couldn’t shake himself of the disdain that came with knowing Chris couldn’t bear the sight of him. “Right now, _this_ is what I need to deal with, okay? Just let me take care of you for a while. God!”

Chris started to pull his hand away, but Zach forced their fingers to link. It was a power struggle, like most things they did, but Zach was determined to win this one. If he couldn’t bring himself to admit how much he’d messed up before, the least he could do was prove he was there now. Predictably, Chris didn’t take Zach at face value, trust him, place a great deal of faith in him anymore.

“Fine, Zach. You want to call a press conference, be my guest. Not like I can stop you.”

“Not a _press conference_ , just one interview with someone we know we like. Besides, I _need_ you for this. Okay? I need you with me. It’s together or nothing.” Considering Zach was trying to put this to rest _for_ Chris, he obviously couldn’t do it on his own. Since he wouldn’t admit this wasn’t purely selfish, he had to follow the line of logic his rather improbable plan required. Even if he knew _need_ was a low blow, he knew he could play off the needless guilt Chris was failing to hide. Besides, it was the blunt, sincere truth.

“Okay,” Chris whispered his concession, squeezing Zach’s hand and shooting his eyes up briefly.

And Zach was so out of practice he couldn’t translate the expression into appropriate terms. Maybe it _was_ trust after all, but that possibility led him into unguarded, hopeful territory with a promise of a semi-successful resolution. Biting his lip, he looked away first, feeling like Chris could see straight through his act, his quickly developed plan to redeem himself. That’s just how clear his eyes were, the blue shining in the dim light when they should be half-shadowed.

“Eyes up here,” Chris threw his own earlier phrasing at him while tugging him closer, pulling a huff-slash-laugh from him. “We’ll fix it. Putting the media’s rampant stories to rest can’t be the most difficult thing we’ve ever pulled off.”

“Point of fact, Pine. Very astute.”

“I’m good at shrewd.”

“So now you’re a shrew?”

“Insults are unnecessary, Quinto. Do I need to break out the synonyms for _pretentious_? Pompous? Or are we doing word association? Because ‘Pomp and Circumstance’ is stuck in my head now.”

“Don’t be facetious.” This was meant to be chastising, missing the mark and dovetailing easily into laughter as their effortless banter resurfaced.

Zach really could have kissed him for that alone. Chris still had this uncanny ability to achieve anything when he put his mind to it, including altering the entire atmosphere of a room with substantially more people occupying it than just him and Zach. With the anxiety dissipating, preparations were much easier to come by, making time melt away.

Zach nearly forgot himself, starting to pull Chris to him as he was leaving, far later than he’d originally intended. Luckily, he caught Chris’ guarded expression, remembered they weren’t on this level anymore, not where they could just casually hang onto one another without the covertness offered by a pretense of comfort. He couldn’t take this too far, saw in the way Chris shifted his eyes every few seconds that Chris would reject it, pull away and ruin whatever had happened between them that night.

So Zach backed off, settling for a _bro-hug_ , as Anton so eloquently referred to it, and going home to think too much and prepare to harass everyone who had managed to keep his private life just that up until a few weeks ago.

Which, actually, wasn’t very difficult. They always knew this could happen and, Hollywood being what it is, had sort of expected it. Chris’ people were more difficult from the start, which both Chris and he (and Katie, Joe, Zoe, and his own agent) thought was just this side of preposterous since Chris had already made the public declaration. Still, there was schmoozing to be done, a scheme to effectively pull off because Chris was right.

This would go much more smoothly if Chris wasn’t forced to find new representation when all was said and done. Luckily, the meeting hadn’t been a complete failure. They did what they had always done best, through repetitive interviews and tedious plane rides; they conned them all. When it was broken down, the main concern had been if Chris could still portray himself in any way possible. And because he’s Chris _fucking_ Pine, he’d upped the charm, called their bluff, won. Zach had just followed his lead as they slipped into character, amazed when they could still read each other so easily; but he was also excessively proud at the grace with which Chris handled the whole thing.

As they were leaving, Zach seriously considered dragging him to Vegas for a weekend, convinced they could exponentially increase their bank accounts by Chris’ poker face alone. That idea was already pulling him out of the character he’d adopted during the meeting, imposing reality again even as Chris called for the elevator.

“Method acting at its finest,” Chris mused, his tone falling somewhere between pleased and distant. Zach shot for amused as the elevator doors closed around them.

“Indeed,” he gave a short nod, quirked an eyebrow. His near-smirk broke into a full-on grin when Chris shoved at him.

“Cease and desist.” He was laughing and, fucking _hell_ , how Zach had missed being able to cause that, the bright sound and crinkling eyes.

For all his faked detachment around Chris, Zach felt himself needing to be near him more and more, practically itching with the desire to touch any part of him. God, how had he been able to make the claim that Chris took too much when he was the one frantically reaching out? How had he stood there with a straight face, projected callousness and defeat all at once while tearing Chris down? It had been a poorly thought out decision, a plan which backfired. He hadn’t wanted Chris to need him, but he’d wanted Chris to fight for him.

Fight _what_ was still to be determined. Like he said, it had been irrational, absurd, fucking _stupid_. As he regained his original footing, he stealthily slid closer. Their miniature victory was akin to an adrenaline rush and Chris’ laughter was catching. Zach gave in, figuring it was now or never.

Reaching out, trying to appear like it wasn’t a trick, Zach brought his hand up, gripping Chris wherever they came into contact. Zach wasn’t complaining if it meant he was holding onto Chris’ wrist, feeling the pulse beat strong, regular, a perfect metaphor for the man he was clinging to. Chris eyed him, surely trying to understand this new development because Zach was avoiding any contact that wasn’t casual, didn’t serve a purpose.

But he wanted contact too much and Chris didn’t seem to be pulling away. Maybe he could just feel and ride it out for a change, no matter how fucking terrifying not knowing was. In order to do that, Zach knew he needed more than semi-regular phone calls and a nearly constant text stream.

“We should hang out more,” he suggested, looking over to meet Chris’ eyes, practically humming as Chris closed his fingers down, holding on as tightly as Zach was.

“Whatever you want.” Resignation. Chris was resigning himself to either Zach’s presence or not deciphering Zach’s latest design. Most likely, Chris was resigning himself to Zach always being in control.

Something snapped. Anger surged through Zach, leaving faint tremors in its wake. This wasn’t Chris. Chris _always_ did what he wanted, ignored better suggestions when his way was more convenient. Chris was impetuous, quick on his feet and Zach adored that, loved that about him. But this? Zach had done this, had taken that away. Even if he did, by some act of God, gain Chris’ forgiveness, he wasn’t sure he’d ever get over this type of shame.

When the elevator doors opened, Chris started to pull away. It was probably force of habit; they hadn’t been able to touch in public before, not like this. Nonetheless, Zach tightened his thumb and pinky around Chris’ wrist, pressing into the skin, possibly leaving a bruise. Chris didn’t seem to mind, allowing himself to be tugged through the lobby and passed the photographers lining the gate around the parking lot.

“Are you free?” Furrowed brows met the question before he realized his sudden desire to keep Chris around a few more moments was making him cut corners, his mouth and brain failing to properly collaborate. “Have lunch with me? My treat? I’ll even throw in one of those unappetizing smoothies you like.”

Chris’ lips parted, face twisted in confusion before he nodded once. “Sure.” He shook his head, snapping his lips to compliance with a smirk, trying to break the sudden electric current of tension buzzing around them. “Getting a little desperate to spend time with me, Zach? All you have to do is smile and give me those puppy dog eyes, you know.”

“I have not now, nor ever, given you _puppy dog eyes_ ,” Zach faux-glared, hand slipping down to grip Chris’ in a more orthodox fashion.

“You do. Constantly. Whenever you want something I’ll probably fight you on. You give Noah a run for his money. Or that cat in _Shrek_.” Chris was rambling, the way he only did when nervous, when he needed to hear his thoughts in spoken format to organize his ideas.

“Whatever. Where’d you park, Bette Davis? You’re driving.”

Tugging him to the right, Chris diverted toward his own parking space. “So, wait, I get to be a cultural icon and you’re a house-pet? I can get behind that.”

Zach finally let go to climb into the passenger seat, tempted to carry on the conversation with a complaint about patronizing tones. Considering he’d just been essentially classified as well below Chris in some strange turn in a discussion of eyes, Zach felt reprimanded, given no more than he deserved. Conversely, Chris was in high spirits, chattering on about something inane, small talk that was honestly below their previous involvement. At least it meant _his_ awkwardness had dissipated, regardless of Zach’s raw nerves.

Lunch went well, though Chris had foregone the smoothie, having picked some place very out of the way. It was the type of place you’d never find without explicit instructions from a regular. Zach wondered where he’d even learned about it but never asked, too wrapped up in a conversation of Hemmingway since Chris was reading _A Farewell to Arms_ again and Zach hadn’t been able to tolerate the first read through. Point was, lunch was short but enjoyable.

Actually, every subsequent meeting was, on average. Zach had honored his declaration, going out of his way to negotiate times to see Chris. When Chris dodged hanging out with poor excuses about shampooing carpets or babysitting dachshunds or whatever, Zach took a tip from the _Chris Pine Relationship Behavior Guide_ and tried spontaneity.

First, Zach delivered a promised smoothie. Chris stumbled over gracious comments, making enough peace with the intrusion to let Zach help him clean his floors (apparently, he hadn’t been lying). A couple mornings later, Zach showed up with coffee before dragging Chris on a run. There hadn’t been much conversation necessary with that one, but it worked better than Zach had planned. Re-establishing a bit of a routine, their former dynamic, allowed them to stop discussing, rehearsing, and over-analyzing the interview they were scheduled for early the following week.

Instead, they became _them_ again, in a sense. That easy friendship, the one Zach had never actually called a _friendship_ because it had always felt so novel, was rejuvenated in full force. They didn’t constantly show up at each other’s homes and take the place over, but they were together more often than not. Zach should have been terrified, should have been worried he’d let Chris down the way he had been before.

In theory, he should have been planning his escape once more; instead, he was reveling in fresh familiarity. When they weren’t together, during those months of forced pleasantries when they’d accidentally been thrown into a shared environment the way parallel social circles always guaranteed, Zach hadn’t thought he’d missed Chris. Not this much. Granted, there were times he’d see a book he’d known Chris would love or have some random experience that was only hilarious when you shared a sense of humor. Those were the times Zach would consider calling Chris, the instances he missed what they’d had. He knew better, though; knew he couldn’t crawl back because he didn’t have any explanations and Chris hadn’t proven what _Zach_ didn’t even know he wanted him to.

Zach wasn’t sure he had now, still couldn’t name what he’d wanted Chris to do so badly because _needing less_ really hadn’t been fucking close. Whatever it was, Zach wasn’t giving it too much thought, spending his time actually enjoying being around Chris; when he was actually being _Chris_ , at any rate. The changes were a bit much for him to handle sometimes, molding Chris’ expressions into heartbreaking looks of desolation. Which was, really and truly, _most_ of the reason Zach was forcing his presence on Chris.

Whenever he arrived unannounced, Zach noticed Chris’ lackadaisical look, his entire body giving off a sense of apathy. Zach couldn’t stand it, bounding in after a halfhearted knock with two pizzas and a case of beer the night before their interview.

“Just so you know, we have Chelsea Handler’s blessing,” he announced, an embellished upbeat tone lacing the words.

“Dude, you watch too much E! for a celebrity. Please stop.” Chris was rubbing a towel over his slightly longer than usual hair, his t-shirt clinging to his apparently still damp chest.

Zach turned away to find paper plates, hiding the way he swallowed. “I’m just keeping up with the times.”

“You’re obsessing. You have that…. _I’m obsessing_ aura about you.” Chris chuckled quietly, towel thrown over a chair, moving to shoulder around Zach and pull the paper plates from their new home in the cabinet above the refrigerator

Even while he teased, his expression was a bit forced, his eyes something akin to watery. Zach had spent a lot of time fighting that look recently, trying to push it away with jokes and light touches. The only thing he hadn’t done was actually ask Chris about it, not since that first night.

Taking the plates and pushing the pizza box’s lid down, Zach gripped Chris’ forearm. A light tug was all it took to have Chris facing him, confusion tightening his entire form. Zach had miscalculated the distance, placing them close enough to feel every shift the other made.

“Talk to me.” It wasn’t an order but a plea.

“I was just talking to you,” Chris’ voice was quiet, the typical sign he was being purposefully contrary.

Zach shook his head, reaching up to scratch through his own hair. “Do you still want to do this? You can back out, Chris; I’ll understand,” he promised, double meaning completely intentional.

Chris pulled his hand away and Zach frowned. A few seconds later, Chris’ arms loosely circled his shoulders. “No. I told you we were doing this. I didn’t convince everyone it was a good idea just to turn on you now.”

Eyelashes fluttering before his eyes fell closed, Zach hugged Chris’ waist. Gently, he tugged him closer, sighing when their bodies came into contact. He’d forgotten how well they had always fit together. “I know you wouldn’t.”

“Zach, we’re on the same side here, okay?” Warm breath brushed Zach’s cheek when Chris spoke. “Just trust me.”

Thirty seconds passed while Zach chewed his lower lip, eyes closed, just holding onto Chris. “Do you trust _me_?”

Chris’ breath hitched, his temple leaned heavily against Zach’s. “Always. Okay?”

Slowly, Zach nodded, tightening his hold until Chris’ retreat forced his arms to drop. For reasons Zach couldn’t understand, Chris refused to look at him for the better part of an hour. It was impossible to force their eyes to meet this time, Zach too worried he’d finally break the other man if he pressed the issue. Clearly, he’d forced Chris to admit something he was avoiding. To restore Chris’ autonomy, Zach was careful not to touch him the remainder of the evening, shifting away whenever they were too close.

Chris seemed relieved, indifferent, content with the arrangement so Zach obliged him. But it still annoyed him, downright fucking _hurt_. Because Chris never reached out first and didn’t fight Zach for attention. Chris took whatever Zach threw at him, accepted every touch, but he didn’t exactly reciprocate. Respond, yes; reciprocate, no. No matter what Zach wanted to do about it, he had convinced himself that his job was to put himself out there and wait for Chris to make a move.

Didn’t he owe that to the younger man? Shouldn’t he be handing over the shots, putting everything in Chris’ court? Yes, Zach reasoned. He’d played his role in this scenario, now it was up to Chris. Which would only work if Zach could knock himself down a few notches.  
His body was humming, mind racing, sleep avoiding him like a plague. Without a proper night’s sleep, Zach was always a little loopy. His silly qualities sometimes leaned closer to plain haphazard, which was apparently going to be his mental state throughout the interview. It was unfortunate, but what could he do now? The only plan of action he could latch onto involved a sugar rush to rival Chris’ usual caffeine high.

The result led to Zach arriving nearly twenty minutes before their scheduled time, practically bouncing while he waited for Chris just inside the entrance. Everything was sharply in focus, lights too bright and sounds too loud, a hangover reaction without the residual alcohol fuzziness. Nervous energy, to be sure, was causing it.

There was a clarity which came with staring at a shadow spotted ceiling for hours on end with relative silence to emphasize the monotony. Every plan Zach had made was self-serving. He’d hidden it in a shroud of concern for Chris, honest concern certainly, but that wasn’t the only reason. Since Zach had re-instated himself in Chris’ life, forced his presence on the younger man, he’d realized a few things about himself; the least of which was that he needed Chris to balance him out, give him a little simplicity when he got too wrapped up in his own head.

Maybe one last scheme wouldn’t be so out of the question, not if he was honest about it. He could just plainly put it out there, right? Just _ask_ Chris what he thought about a…second try. Considering their frequent meetings of late, it was amazing how many topics they had avoided, such as the general concept of _them_.

Before he could get much further than vague ideas, Chris was pushing through the doors, fiddling with his sunglasses. On impulse, Zach’s hand shot out to snatch Chris’.

Chris gasped, looking as exhausted as Zach felt. “Jesus, fuck, Zach! A little warning?”

Laughing, Zach leaned into him just a bit, soaking in the warmth radiating from Chris’ body. “You ready to sell this?”

Narcissism radiated from Chris’ every pore, his grin lighting up his face and chasing away the weariness residing in his eyes. “Sex sells, baby. I’m walking sex.”

An answering grin tugged at Zach’s lips as they fell into step together, following the hallway the receptionist had already pointed out to Zach. He put on a long-suffering expression, releasing a pained sigh. “I really need to start getting that ego back in check. Your restraint has deteriorated without me.”

Immediately, Zach recognized his mistake. The comment pushed too far even when he meant nothing serious. Chris heard something in his phrasing that tore at old wounds, ones that had never fully healed. Without preamble, Chris shifted to the other side of the corridor, dodging when Zach reached toward him. His voice, when he finally spoke, was forced and forlorn.

“Personally, I think I’ve been better since.”

There were more topics to discuss than Zach had acknowledged. He felt his face fall, dejection taking over as he realized what this had all been about. He’d forced a change in Chris, made him stop reaching out for fear he’d take something he hadn’t been offered. Zach, for his part, had no idea how to fix it now, how backtracking would change anything at this point.

Chris had timed his declaration well, a production assistant accosting them before Zach could organize his thoughts, formulate a new course of action. When they were finally alone, a few moments granted to them by the gods of poor time management, Zach paced. Chris was peeling a water bottle, ignoring him as much as possible. They couldn’t go out like this.

They couldn’t fizzle out _now_ , not when they had an interview to prove their public personas were unchanged. They couldn’t burn out, hurt each other when they were _this_ close to… _something_ , when Zach was having that quintessential moment of epiphany.

Talking. They were good with words; words were their _thing_. Right now, they needed to fix this; Zach _had_ to fix this. He spun on his heel, stopping scant inches from Chris.

“Do you have something to say?” Please, say something, Zach tried to beg with his body language.

Chris pulled the last piece of paper from the water bottle, unimpressed blue eyes shooting up. “No, but you apparently do.”

Anxiety moved Zach’s hand through his hair, forcing the product to redistribute. Zach was distantly aware that a hair and makeup person somewhere was going to hate him soon. “What are we _doing_ , Christopher?” He asked, needing to hear what Chris was thinking, possibly more than he ever had.

Chris reached out and Zach inched back. Not now. Chris couldn’t turn his own game against him, not when he had this whole communication concept finally figured out.

“We’re about to repeat my previous stellar performance and prove to the masses we are capable of retaining our dignity.” Calculated movements put Chris closer. His voice was confusing, shifting from placating to accusing. “Unless you’ve decided I’m not worth it. Save your image, this was mostly about me. You don’t owe _me_ anything.”

Yes, he did. Zach owed him everything. “I owe you an apology.” He watched a myriad of thoughts cross Chris’ face before he rallied. “I turned my back on you. When Anton called, I should have come straight to you.”

“I was in Maine.” Typical Chris, divert with humor.

“Which really must have sucked; you need to tell me about that, by the way,” Zach acknowledged before moving on quickly. Time was running out. How long did they have? Ten minutes on the outside? His vocal pacing was increasing, trying to force everything he should have said ages ago into some concise format. “I always tried to force too much on you. Then when you fucking needed me, I wasn’t _there_ And I’m sorry.”

“I could have called you just as easily,” Chris tried, shaking his head quickly.

“I knew you wouldn’t. I practically forbade you to.” Zach wouldn’t let him take this away, shoulder more blame when he shouldn’t have had any. And he couldn’t see that, see the guilt shining so clearly at him, but he couldn’t keep looking away either. He deserved to see it, feel it as acutely as Chris must have.

Because Zach did forbid it, pushed Chris away and hoped he’d do everything in his power to change Zach’s mind. That had been it. He’d been a mess, too overcome by Chris’ constant presence. When he’d left, he hadn’t wanted Chris to leave; he’d wanted Chris to beat him down until he gave up. Instead of fighting himself, he’d expected Chris to just see what he needed. It was inexcusable.

When it hit, Zach stared at Chris chest, the floor, anywhere other than his face. He’d never be able to take that back. When he’d claimed to put too much on Chris, Zach’s subconscious had been working faster than his conscious, beating him to the punch. Zach hadn’t recognized just how much he had tried to make Chris responsible for….When Chris tried to interject, Zach spoke over him even as he knew Chris would glare at him for it.

“You don’t ask for too much. I’m not sure you ever actually did. I was too caught up and thought if you didn’t need me so much, I could handle it. I made it your fault and this happened.” He was getting breathless, trying to say it all, reveal every piss poor motive in one long run-on sentence.

“Technically, _this_ is Anton’s fault.”

A saint’s control kept Zach from shaking him. Was Chris missing the significance of this situation? He was smart enough to at least realize how involved Zach was in this, in them. For the smallest span of time, Zach locked their eyes and saw something in Chris’. He wasn’t guarded, not this time.

Further analysis would have to wait; Chris’ mouth on his successfully short circuiting the parts of his brain responsible for coherent thought. In the abstract, Zach knew they should stop; they really needed to actually talk for a change and cameras were going to roll in the very near future.

Still, Zach was gripping Chris’ shirt, forcing their bodies closer and Chris was tugging at his hair as they tried to find their rhythm again. He may have whined, lips falling apart which Chris took advantage of. It was overload. It’s not the Chris was never this assertive, but he knew every little thing Zach liked. Plus he did this _thing_ with his tongue that Zach had never really worked out but it got to him on his best days, let alone when he was this open.

He stumbled back, hoping a wall or chair or a fucking table was nearby, just needing to take some of the pressure off. Focusing on Chris and standing was too much work and Zach would rather crumble to the floor than lose any of whatever he was being granted. Chris was giving him something and Zach knew better than to turn his back on a gift, especially one he’d been begging for over the past month.

Apparently, the wall was closest. As soon as they hit it, Zach lost track of the touches, everything a blur of sensations and sounds, which he suspected were mostly him. When had he become the _needy_ one? When had that stopped mattering? When that annoying need for oxygen forced their lips apart, Zach kissed anywhere he could reach, tasting the salt of Chris skin and the alcohol of his cologne. Chris’ hands were tight, pulling at him roughly as he slot a knee between Chris’, pressing up and earning a low moan.

Some god damned nobody chose that moment to decide they were needed on set. Zach slid his hands down Chris chest, straightening his shirt a second later, ignoring the woman in favor of not snapping at her. He couldn’t help laughing, though, not when Chris was pulling him toward the door.

The interview became a string of nonsense and rehearsed commentary with some of their typical interview banter added in for flavor. Everything they expected was asked, every nuance they were comfortable disclosing explained. Really, Zach was tuning it out, letting Chris have the lead even if they hadn’t planned it that way.

Until _the_ question was asked. The one they had an answer for, one that no longer fit in Zach’s mind. Chris was leaning just slightly into Zach’s shoulder; Zach’s thumb was brushing his knee and the blonde woman was practically glowing with energy.

“I know Chris said you weren’t together anymore, but you look pretty chummy today.”

Chris shrugged while Zach chuckled, nearly drowning his own words. “You could say that.”

"We're friendly guys."

"It's part of our charm."

" _My_ charm. Your charm's all in your hair."

Zach reached up to touch his hair, never one to let the power of suggestion be discredited. "Then where's yours? Your eyes?"

When Chris winked, Zach was pretty sure the girl literally "squeed," if he was interpreting the term correctly.

“Are we talking a reconciliation here? You two have been together quite a bit recently.” Well, that was about as subtle as a train wreck.

“You can’t take every _candid_ picture on _Just Jared_ at face value,” Chris grinned but Zach’s face fell.

Why had he expected a little making out and some serious groping to mean anything? It was the tension breaking; that was all. Zach sighed, shooting a concerned glance at Chris. Chris just smiled at him, all easy charm and nonchalance. His hand fell on top of Zach’s, fingers slipping between his own. For a second he breathed easier.

“Things happen, you know?” Zach finally spoke, feeling his face light up as he glanced back to the woman they’d requested for this. “We didn’t plan anything, not really. Some pictures were leaked and it set a chain of events in motion we couldn’t anticipate. In the grand scheme, we can’t really say what’s going on with us. We’re what we always were.”

“And what’s that?” She was a little like a starving dog on the last bone in the junk yard. Zach could respect that, at least it meant she was prepared for whatever turn this thing took.

They shared a look, laughing and shrugging simultaneously. “Just us.”

Because, in _the grand scheme_ of it all, that’s what mattered. Zach lost sight of that, focusing on himself when he should have been focusing on them both. He’d planned too much when no one couldn’t see that far ahead.

What was the saying about _the road to Hell_? Each of Zach’s well laid plans had been directed at the best possible outcome, his intentions were the best even if his execution had failed. And that’s where things had to change. He knew that now. He was always going to be his own person while Chris was completely different. But they matched and he couldn’t hold himself back anymore, not if he expected to hold onto Chris.

No, he wasn’t going to plan it this time. Controlling everything was a short trip to disaster and Zach wasn’t putting himself or Chris in that position again. Planning, scheming, obsessing: sometimes those didn’t matter. Sometimes all you had to do was live it and let it happen.

**Author's Note:**

> When I originally posted this a million years ago, I had no intention of writing anything beyond Irony (part one). A lot of people expressed interest in a continuation, which led to Revision (part 3). I realized Zach came across sort of poorly and there was enough interest to lead to Distance (part 2), which naturally led to Scheme (part four). I think it works a lot better in this order, even if it was written differently. If anyone who originally read this sees it here, Thank you guys! You were all amazing and this wouldn't exist without you.


End file.
